


Exposed

by gratuitousWordsmith



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, PWP, self conscious karkat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 12:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gratuitousWordsmith/pseuds/gratuitousWordsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His fingers curl in the fabric of your sweater and he motions, asking if he can take it off. He really doesn’t understand this whole black romance thing, does he? In any case, you refuse him. Maybe its cold in the room. Maybe you wanted to take it off yourself. Maybe you’re just too damned self-conscious to bare your chest. You leave it on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exposed

**Author's Note:**

> i went looking for good porn and ive read all the good porn so i tried to make good porn and this happened im sorry

> [tumblr mirror](http://grandfalloon.tumblr.com/post/51894943430)

You yank his collar to the side and bite hard into his neck. The position is uncomfortable -him face down/ass up with you arching over his back- but it serves you well. You lap at the pinpricks of blood welling up from the bite and subsequent bruising eagerly. Blood drinking was more of Kanayas thing, you’d expect, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it. He would be too, you assume from the groan he issues forth. He tries unsuccessfully to push himself up but you settle yourself on his lower back, denying him.

“I’m not gonna give up that easily, Strider,” you tell him. “Off.” You tug at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head. His damned sunglasses get caught up in the act and flung to the side. He digs his bare face into the coverlet and groans again as your claws rake down his back.

“I didn’t come in here for you to fuckin dissect me.” His words are muffled against the fabric. You run a finger down his spine and he shudders. With a heave of god tier strength he flips himself over underneath you, bracing you against his thighs. Your hands find purchase on his pale chest. His skin is so much lighter than yours; you swear you can see veins and muscle twisting underneath it. “Ease up, dude, I like to breathe every once in awhile.” You didn’t realize you were pushing your weight through his chest. You pull your arms up off of him as he leans up to kiss you. His lips are saccharine and smooth against yours and you find yourself not wanting to mar them with scrapes. The kiss was a bit of a stretch for him anyways, and he leans back and away from you.

His fingers curl in the fabric of your sweater and he motions, asking if he can take it off. He really doesn’t understand this whole black romance thing, does he? In any case, you refuse him. Maybe its cold in the room. Maybe you wanted to take it off yourself. Maybe you’re just too damned self-conscious to bare your chest. You leave it on.

“Hold on,” he tells you, and you take his shoulders in your hands but it didn’t help much to stabilize you as you’re turned on your back with him above you. Your horns knock with the headboard and your head caves in. You rub your eyes, trying to nullify the headache but your pounding heartbeat makes it worse. You tell him to stop grinding against you for five seconds so you can get yourself back together but he doesn’t stop and soon his hands are under your shirt again. He runs his hands up your chest and holds your shoulders, slipping your sweater off in the process, leaving you exposed. Your head gives a particularly heavy throb at that moment and you don’t really know how to breathe anymore. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Goddamn it, Dave, if you had listened for all of two m-minutes you wouldn’t have proved that you’re a bigger s-shithead than I thought.” You wipe your mouth with your wrist and subconsciously cross your arms over your chest. He sits back on his heels and runs his long thin fingers through his hair.

“Shit dude, I-I…” He runs a hand over your chest again, catching one of your wrists and bringing it up and away from you.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You ask, trying to get your arm back.

“Would you stop squirming Jesus Christ,” he says, fitting your arm back through one of your sleeves. Oh. Oh. Gently, he redresses you and its really fucking hard to keep hating him like you do. You try to react to it, you really do, but he’s kissing you now, nipping at your lips and growling just a bit, trying to bring back the flame that started this all.

And it fucking works.

He pushes you down and flips his hair and honestly you don’t really know what the hell he’s doing. You slide your hands around his waist and start working off the red pants of his god tier outfit. He lifts up with grace and flexibility that you’re unable to match and lets you finish disrobing him. And now he’s the one left exposed.

He thumbs your waistband, seeking permission. You let him and before you really know what’s happened you’re straddling his bare thighs. You twitch as he rocks his hips forward and you feel the tip of his human bulge rub against the edge of your nook. His hands roam over your legs and around to the small of your back where he digs his blunt nails in. That’s all the encouragement you need to bit his shoulder over the mark you made earlier and slide forward onto him.

And time around you starts to slow down and you realize he’s doing the thing again. Cheesey bastard he knows speeding time up for you doesn’t do anything for him and he catches up to you a second later. He kisses you with female antlerbeast eyes and says exactly what you were expecting.

 “I wanted to make that moment last forever, babe.” You roll your eyes and kiss him back.

**Author's Note:**

> written as a gift for 66 followers on my writing blog over at grandfalloon.tumblr.com ye haw


End file.
